


First Come First Serve

by Maybeanartist02



Category: Fictif, Fictif: Last Legacy, Last Legacy
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurities, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22088983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maybeanartist02/pseuds/Maybeanartist02
Summary: “Why’d you wake me?” she asks, “somethin’ happen?”Felix wants to say, at first, that he didn’t mean to wake her, but he thinks of something better.“You’re so beautiful, I just had to wake you up so I could see the color of your eyes.”She blinks, blankly, then groans, as her cheeks darken and she buries her face in her pillow. After a few seconds (during which he’d looked at her like she hung the stars in the sky), she resurfaces, scowling at the wall in front of her.“Next time, warn me when you’re going to go poetry book shopping.”
Relationships: Felix Escellun/Aenne Nova (OC), Felix Escellun/Female Character, Felix Escellun/Main Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	First Come First Serve

There was something so very…calming, about waking up next to Aenne. Be it the way her body rises and falls with each steady breath, the soft sighs she’d let out, or when her face scrunched up before relaxing again.

All of it was endearing to Felix.

All of _her_ was endearing.

They’re facing each other, her soundly asleep, but him mournfully awake. Watching her like this has a warmth spreading through his body that has him smiling. He watches her peaceful breathing like it might lessen the load on his shoulders.

For a moment, he fools himself into thinking it’s just _them_ , in all of existence.

A brown lock of hair falls over her eyes, and he carefully reaches out to brush it away, praying to the spirits that she won’t wake up—

But the spirits are unkind to him, today, and her eyes flutter open.

The sound she makes is a disgruntled ‘mrrp’, which reminds him of a sleepy kitten, and he swallows a chuckle as she yawns, turning to lie on her stomach.

“Why’d you wake me?” she asks, “somethin’ happen?”

Felix wants to say, at first, that he didn’t mean to wake her, but he thinks of something better.

“You’re so beautiful, I just had to wake you up so I could see the color of your eyes.”

She blinks, blankly, then groans, as her cheeks darken and she buries her face in her pillow. After a few seconds (during which he’d looked at her like she hung the stars in the sky), she resurfaces, scowling at the wall in front of her.

“Next time, warn me when you’re going to go poetry book shopping.”

Then she looks at him, and the annoyed façade falls when their gazes lock, and she sees the way he looks at her—

_Adoration_.

She grumbles, glancing down, “don’t look at me like that.”

He frowns, quirking a brow, “Like what?”

“Like…” she sighs, “like I’m the center of your _world_.”

She rolls away, back to him, and his frown deepens. He huffs, moving to loom over her, as his hand comes to cup her cheek, forcing her gaze to return to him.

“You are my world,” he says, and she sucks in a deep breath.

She rolls onto her back, gazing up at him like she doesn’t believe him.

“I’m never anyone’s first choice,” she says, “and when I am I’m not the last one,” she rolls her eyes, but they return to Felix’s in record time, “you’ll be no different.”

He huffs, “you can’t possibly know that.”

She scoffs, “and you can?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and it throws her for a loop—

“Yes.”

She sucks in a sharp breath, and his other hand cups her cheek.

“You are my first, and my last. My one and only, Aenne.” He pauses, considering what else there is to say. “I love you.”

Her breath catches, and she fears she might die here, under him, as sunlight casts his face in a golden glow, and no necromancer has looked this alive before (probably).

“I…” she stutters, but can’t find the words to say, as he brushes the tears that threaten to spill with the pad of his thumb.

“May I kiss you?” he asks.

She smiles, nodding, “Yeah,” she laughs, watery and heavy with emotion, “it’d be appreciated, actually.”

So he does.

The kiss starts tender, just two people who found each other, despite everything, but it soon turns into one that stings, and though she needs to, she can’t seem to gather the energy to pull away to breathe until she’s gasping for air.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks, through panting, and a face flushed with color.

She laughs, “you gonna ask every time?”

He hums, “Does that bother you?”

She shrugs, rolling her eyes with a smile, “not particularly.” Then she hums, eyes focusing on his, “Kiss me again.”

He hums, connecting their lips once more, resuming their earlier heated entanglement. Her arms wrap around his neck, and his slip to her hips, where they dig into exposed skin, and truly, how ironic is it that a necromancer could make her feel so _alive_.


End file.
